


tell me you'll be my lonely valentine

by janie_tangerine



Category: Bastille Day (2016)
Genre: Blindfolds, Chocolate, Explicit Sexual Content, Idiots in Love, M/M, Post-Canon, Restraints, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Valentine's Day, Valentine's Day Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-03
Updated: 2017-04-03
Packaged: 2018-10-14 10:15:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10534419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janie_tangerine/pseuds/janie_tangerine
Summary: “You didn’t even notice? Good grief,” Tom sighs. “Anyway, you can stop laying low if you were worried about that. As for the first question… today is… February 14th. Valentine’s day. You know. That day of the year you usually bring your significant others out and buy them chocolate or cards and all that corny stuff.”What the hell, Briar thinks. He doesn’t think he’s ever bought anyone cards or anything in his entire life, and he has had a few girlfriends in high school.“We’re going out,” Briar finally settles on. “It wasn’t… for this entire ridiculous thing, but whatever.”“Keep telling yourself that,” Tom tells him. “By the way, please feel free to go out with Mason as much as you’d like. You’re entirely more manageable when you’re in healthy relationships.”“Fuck you,” Briar flips him off as he leaves Tom’s office.“I think Mason would call dibs on that. Seriously, buy him some chocolate at least,” Tom laughs, and Briar doesn’t even bother trying to have the last word.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Sooo, back on Feb. 14th I got a request on tumblr for _it's Valentine's Day so I think we all deserve a small thing about Briar and Michael celebrating it._ It turned into THIS. Idek. I'm reposting almost two months late but hey I couldn't be arsed until now. Anyway, they don't belong to me (I wish), the title is from Bruce Springsteen and I actually have a dumb headcanon that Michael keeps track of their monthly-versaries but never mind me. xD

“We should go out,” Michael blurts out, trying to sound as casual as he can manage. If he wants to pull this off, given that he’s dating a guy who tends to be more fucking reclusive than most of the criminals he arrests, he needs to be stealthy about it.

“… Any special occasion?” Briar replies, looking up from the paperwork he’s filling up. It’s about their last mission. Michael should probably do that as well, but he will later.

“Well,” Michael says, thinking _here it goes_ , “didn’t we meet _exactly_  seven months ago?”

“Again with this month-anniversary crap or whatever it’s called?”

“Hey, it’s a perfect legit occasion,” Michael retorts, and he can hear a couple of secretaries laughing as they pass in front of the office’s door. Yeah, well, who gives a fuck. He knows it’s a fucking ridiculous excuse, but it’s a _tried_  one.

And it works, because then Briar rolls his eyes and lets out a small huff. “Fine. Seven-month anniversary, _seriously_? Whatever. I can pick you up at eight. Just forget about fucking _dancing_.”

“What? Wasn’t even contemplating it. See you later then,” Michael says, slipping out of the office.

_Yes_. He’s absolutely _never_  going to tell a soul he basically cheated a Valentine’s Day date out of whatever Briar’s to him - he’s not gonna use _boyfriend_  under the threat of death because it just doesn’t fit but hey, they’re… _seeing each other_ , so he’ll do with the idea of it -, but… listen, it’s probably pathetic of him that he’s been on the wrong side of his twenties and never did anything for it. Not that he ever had a _partner_  to do anything with on the goddamned day, and he spent his life harboring a fair amount of resentment for the entire day, the commercial crap built around it and its fucking existence. As if he needed a reminder that he had no fucking person to spend it with.

And now he technically has, but knowing Briar… the guy already barely goes on _dates_  in the first place, he has zero concept of romance in the first place and wanted to go to work on _Christmas day_ , he’d risk being laughed in the face if he even uttered _Valentine’s Day_  in his presence.

But then again, he doesn’t have to know. Michael heads to his office to deal with his own paperwork and decides that honestly, he could have had it a lot worse. And a date is still a date, the purpose doesn’t really matter.

–

“Here,” Briar tells Tom, dumping the files on his desk as unceremoniously as he can get away with. “All your paperwork. _In order_.”

“I somehow doubt that, but thank you,” Tom says, sending him a weary glance. Then his eyes take a glint that Briar does not like at all. “Anyway, if you want to leave early, just go. I imagine you’re bringing Mason out for Valentine’s?”

“I’m - wait, for _what_? And how do you know I’m bringing Mason anywhere?”

Briar thinks Tom was more impressed with him the first time they talked to each other, which probably says _something_  about this entire business he’s not entirely sure he wants to be aware of.

“To answer your second question: the entire fucking office is aware. At least since one of the cleaning ladies walked in on you in the storage room.”

“ _What_?”

“You didn’t even notice? Good grief,” Tom sighs. “Anyway, you can stop laying low if you were worried about that. As for the first question… today is… February 14th. Valentine’s day. You know. _That_  day of the year you usually bring your _significant others_  out and buy them chocolate or cards and all that corny stuff.”

_What the hell_ , Briar thinks. He doesn’t think he’s ever bought anyone cards or anything in his entire life, and he _has_  had a few girlfriends in high school.

“We’re going out,” Briar finally settles on. “It wasn’t… _for_  this entire ridiculous thing, but whatever.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” Tom tells him. “By the way, please feel free to _go out with Mason_  as much as you’d like. You’re entirely more manageable when you’re in healthy relationships.”

“Fuck you,” Briar flips him off as he leaves Tom’s office.

“I think Mason would call dibs on that. Seriously, buy him some chocolate at least,” Tom laughs, and Briar doesn’t even bother trying to have the last word.

Christ, he had totally forgotten and he’d have rather stayed ignorant. This is so _not_  the kind of holiday he even takes account of.

Then again, he reasons, since he’s… _taking Michael out_  on fucking Valentine’s or what the hell is this clusterfuck of a commercial waste of time, he might as well do things halfway decently. He hangs around the office and overhears enough of his co-workers’ plans for the day to know that he’s _not_  buying fucking flowers or _heart-shaped chocolate,_ for the love of everything.

Still -

Admittedly, he doesn’t know what he’s doing with Michael most of the time even if it seems like the kid barely has fucking standards since he seems to think Briar is actually some kind of person people _would want to date_  (or at least, that _he_  wants to), and Briar has a suspicion that he’d actually appreciate this whole Valentine’s Day crap, and he kind of wants this relationship or _whatever_  to work because crazy as it is he actually - _likes_  the kid, damn it.

Fuck this noise. He’s not a slacker at _anything_ , is he? He asks around for advice from the cleaning lady that looks most discreet and after leaving the office he heads for Rue du Faubourg Saint-Honoré, where said cleaning lady assured him he can find the _actual best_  chocolate his money can buy in this town.

When he walks into [La Maison du Chocolat](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fen.wikipedia.org%2Fwiki%2FLa_Maison_du_Chocolat&t=MWUzM2JlMGVlY2E0ODk2M2Q2NzBlMWY1NjdlNzMzNzE0ZTM3MTYxYixrNGt3MTg5eA%3D%3D&b=t%3AdgHLSIMGwdyIxk-MZARAFA&p=http%3A%2F%2Fjaniedean.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F157248336093%2Fmate-mate-mate-its-valentines-day-so-i-think&m=1) he realizes that she wasn’t lying - he’s sure a box of assorted chocolates costs like _ten_  he’d buy in a supermarket. Still, he’s doing this properly and it’s not like he doesn’t get paid enough to afford it. He buys a medium-sized box filled with a decent assorted variety of small dark chocolates and a few macarons, gets it nicely wrapped - _in blue_ , not in red, damn it - and when he drops home to change, he takes care to put on some decent clothing after his shower.

He’s doing this ridiculousness, he’s going to do it _properly_.

–

Michael doesn’t know if he had been expecting anything other than Briar standing on the other side of his door when he opened it.

Briar having changed out of his work clothes was within the realm of possible, though.

Briar having done that _and_  pretty much throwing at him some kind of wrapped box was _not_  though, and he only catches it out of pure good reflexes.

Then he actually looks down on it. It’s very nicely and carefully wrapped (the paper is a lovely blue color), with a darker blue ribbon as well, and he’s about to ask what it is before he notices a small sticker with the shop’s name attached on the corner.

Michael’s lived here long enough to recognize immediately _where_  that box comes from.

“You - you _bought chocolate_?”

“Someone in the office pointed out it was _customary_ ,” Briar replies dryly. “By the way, apparently they all guessed we’re a thing. Whatever.”

Michael doesn’t even register that part.

_It was customary_.

“I - uh, didn’t think you’d care for… customary things. I mean. About -”

“I don’t,” Briar agrees, “but seems to me like _you_  do.”

Michael’s throat goes dry at once and all of a sudden there’s one thing he knows for sure.

“You know,” he says, “maybe we can go out _later_. Would be a waste not to eat some, right?”

Of course Briar doesn’t even blink before accepting - Michael should have expected from someone whose idea of dating is doing anything you can think of _inside your apartment._

Michael just nods towards his couch before sitting down and opening the box. He tears the wrapping paper carefully after peeling away the ribbon, and when he opens the box he gets a very sharp reminder that he skipped lunch thanks to his nerves when it came to asking for the date while making sure he didn’t give himself away.

“Shit,” he says, “this is so above and beyond my paycheck.”

“Not beyond mine though,” Briar quips back. “And since I got through half an hour of queue to buy that maybe you should eat a couple, shouldn’t you?”

This is probably _not_  what anyone would write in a _romance_  movie.

Michael can’t give two shits as he reaches down and grabs the first praline he sees in the corner.

And then he almost moans when he tastes it. _Shit_ , it’s dark chocolate and the fill is most definitely hazelnut-flavored - he’s glad he only ate half of it and not tried to swallow it at once because he definitely wants to flavor it. He only eats the second half when he’s _thoroughly_  done with the first and keeps his eyes closed as he eats it, thinking that it was _definitely_  worth its good name.

Then he opens his eyes and realizes he has his fingertips stained with dark chocolate from the outer part of the praline - right. He did hold it for a fair bit. He shrugs, licking it off because like hell he’s going to waste any of that, and he hears a _noise_  from his left.

He turns towards Briar who is totally staring down at the chocolate but _definitely_  was the source of said noise.

“What was that?” Michael asks.

“Nothing,” Briar lies, and -

Wait. Michael is sure he must have some chocolate smeared on his mouth, he can feel it.

“Really?”

He _absolutely_  does it on purpose when he slowly, _slowly_  licks his lips a moment later.

Given how dark Briar’s eyes become a moment later, he thinks he guessed what it was about.

“Should I eat another?” He asks, not even trying to _not_  sound smug.

He has _hopes_  about where this might end up, anyway.

–

Briar needs to change his mind about this stupid holiday.

Or better, he still thinks it’s a dumb commercial thing pushed on people in order to make them feel miserable if they’re not dating anyone, but if it brings to things like the current situation he’s in, then _hell_ , he’s all for it.

It’s probably his luck that Michael’s never blinked at _any_  of his suggestions when it came to fucking and he certainly didn’t blink to _this_  one.

“If you move I’m eating the one I have in my hands.”

“Well, you barely even touched them, maybe it’s time you _do_  eat one,” Michael says, and no one has the right to sound this flippant when they have their hands tied to the headboard and their eyes _blindfolded_.

(With Briar’s tie, but they didn’t have anything else that was viable.)

“I think it has the hazelnut filling,” Briar replies as sweetly as he can manage.

Michael goes very still all over again at once. “Maybe not _that_  particular one then,” he agrees, and he doesn’t sound half as smug as he did ten seconds ago.

“Nice,” Briar drawls, moving downwards and placing his knees firmly around Michael’s thighs. “If I had known _this_  was what it took to shut you up at times -”

“You’re playing dirty,” Michael interrupts him, but doesn’t move an inch as he speaks.

“I somehow doubt it comes as a surprise,” Briar says, reaching out with his left hand and grabbing the praline in question. “Open up. And _don’t move_.”

Michael does part his lips and does _not_  move, and Briar puts the praline in between his teeth very, very gently - he waits until Michael bites off a piece and then the other, some of the filling spilling over the corner of his mouth and Briar’s fingers. And before Briar can move on with what he was planning (it’s probably _mean_  to start jerking someone off while they’re swallowing down high quality chocolate), he feels Michael’s tongue licking his fingertips off and all coherent thought goes out of the fucking window.

He breathes in and stares down just as Michael licks clean both fingers that were holding the praline, taking them into his mouth and proceeding with his task slowly and cautiously, and Briar doesn’t know if it’s the sight or the feeling or both that makes all of his blood run downwards but he knows he _likes_  it, damn it, and so he doesn’t waste time in opening up Michael’s jeans and throwing them on the other side of the room, along with his underwear. He has been naked for a while, not that Michael saw any of that, and Michael groans almost filthily as Briar leans down and lines up his groin against Michael’s, his body covering Michael’s as well and his hands grabbing his wrists where they’re tied to the bed’s headboard.

That’s when he realizes that while Michael licked his fingers clean he didn’t do the same with _his own lips_.

So Briar leans down and does it instead, and - right. That was some seriously good chocolate, he decides as he kisses it off Michael’s mouth, and also decides that he’s not going to complain when Michael’s head surges upwards and kisses him harder than Briar had planned to.

He cants his hips downwards as he leans back and Michael downright moans against his lips while the kiss breaks - his cheeks are flushed a lovely dark pink, his lips are so kiss-swollen it makes Briar’s head spin to only _look_  at them.

Christ, this was the best idea he ever had, or at least the best one when concerning dumb commercial holidays.

“How does it feel?” He asks, the hand he _hadn’t_  used for the chocolate reaching down where his dick is pressing against Michael’s and giving a squeeze to both - Michael’s hips jerk upwards as he searches for friction.

“Fucking _great_ ,” Michael croaks, panting into his mouth. “Okay, I kinda - want to see you, but - this makes it all _so much more_  -” Briar never learns what was _more_ , since then Michael moans again and doesn’t finish the sentence, but he keeps on giving the two of them friction and moving his hand - he might draw this out a bit more, but he has a feeling he might want to aim for a round two and so it really doesn’t matter. He moves his free hand behind Michael’s head so he can angle it better and feels how much Michael’s arms are straining, but he’s also so hard it has to hurt and Briar can feel exactly how much, and - yeah. Maybe it’s time he goes through with it - he _definitely_  was a round two. Where Michael can _see_  what’s going on, he decides, and so he momentarily ignores himself and starts jerking Michael off instead, fast, without frills, and he’s coming all over Briar’s hand after going still for a moment, his mouth parted and his cheeks still flushed and it’s such a lovely sight Briar has to follow a moment later, not that it takes long to finish himself off - he groans before finding Michael’s mouth again, and again, and by the time they’re done and taking in deep breaths he feels like collapsing for a moment, but instead he lifts himself upwards and wipes his hands on the sheet first and then with a tissue he had left on the nightstand while they were getting things ready. Good idea, he decides.

He reaches out and takes out the blindfold only - Michael blinks and then looks up at him with large blue eyes that look three shades darker than they usually are. His pupils are blown but focused and he also looks like he can _entirely_ stand a round two.

“I think,” Briar says, “that for the next one we can forget the tie.”

“No arguing here,” Michael agrees, and his shoulders make an aborted stretching motion that doesn’t go anywhere, since his wrists are tied to the headboard. “I still haven’t had anything to eat other than _five_  of those chocolates since this morning, though,” he points out, and is he _pouting_? Christ, how did they even meet each other?

Right. On a rooftop chase. What does he even expect.

“This was _your_  idea,” Briar points out as he reaches for the chocolate box with the hand he _hadn’t_  used to jerk off either of them. He grabs one at random - it’s another praline, but it’s not the same as before. He bites off a small piece of it - it’s almond-filled and it’s _delicious -_ right, it was definitely a good call. “But I’m generous. I can share.”

“I’m down with it,” Michael breathes out, his eyes growing darker, and he’s ready for it when Briar leans down, chocolate in between his teeth.

_Yes_ , Briar thinks as his tongue licks almond filling from Michael’s lips not long later, he definitely can see the upside of this dumb holiday.

Given that Michael’s legs are moving upwards and his ankles clamping down behind Briar’s knees, he has a clue Michael’s entirely agreeing with his assessment, and he’s _definitely_  going to make round two count.

They can go out tomorrow, he decides. For now, they’re good here.

 

End.


End file.
